Unless We Believe
by MissDaisy87
Summary: Ron And Hermione's relationship strengthens and weakens throughout the search for the Deathly Hallows. A look at some the possible moments and feelings that follow them on this journey.
1. The Order of Nature

**The Order of Nature  
**

_In peace, children inter their parents; war violates the order of nature and causes parents to inter their children. Herodotus_

Molly's very hair was bristling with determination, a situation Ron was rather too familiar with to expect it to end well for him. Her hat was quivering and slipping off her head, as though even it was afraid of being too close to her. The kitchen felt smaller than ever to Ron, as he hunched closely to Hermione on the bench. His mother may have been trying to keep her voice calm but the undertone of anger was unmistakable. He even noticed the buried fear.

"You really think you're dropping out of school and leaving us. You really think you're going to do this without even telling me why."

"We don't think so, Mum, we know so. We don't have any choice."

"Nonsense! You have plenty of choices. You could go back to Hogwarts like normal children. You could tell the Order what you know and leave it to them to handle. You could trust your father and me."

"Oh, please don't say that, Mrs. Weasley. Of course we trust you," Hermione pleaded, her voice close to breaking. "We trust you more than anyone else. You love Harry as much as we do."

She looked only slightly mollified. "Well, you aren't behaving that way."

Ron moved his hand to the small of Hermione's back and pressed hard before sliding it up to her shoulder. "Don't hurt Hermione's feelings, Mum. It's not her fault. Dumbledore said…"

"Oh, don't give me that again. Dumbledore may have had his reasons but he could have been mistaken, did you ever consider that?"

"No, we 'effing well didn't consider that. And we 'effing well aren't going to!" Ron exploded. He didn't want to think, he wanted to act. Why couldn't his mother leave it alone? Okay, he knew why but it didn't change anything

"Ron, stop _cursing_," Hermione and Mrs. Weasley said at the same time and in the same aggravated tone of voice. Ron buried his head in hands. "I'm trapped, aren't I? Destined to never get away with anything."

Even Molly laughed weakly at his woebegone attitude. Not that he wasn't putting it on a bit to distract her. After all, she and Hermione were well used to his language by now but that didn't stop either of them from pretending to scold him. Turn about was fair play with both of them, as far as he was concerned.

"Well, I have the chickens to see to, but this isn't over. I won't have any else in my family in danger. It's enough as it is," she said practically, heading for the back door. "I do want grandchildren some day," she added obliquely as though determined not to leave without the upper hand.

Ron's head sank from his hands onto the wooden table. This was it, he was going to die. His face was so hot it was going to set the table on fire and Hermione would be too stunned by his mother to put it out.

He felt her shift beside him but couldn't bring himself to look at her.

"Well," she said in a shaky voice, "I'd say we've almost got her convinced, wouldn't you?"

The bright sun shining through the window lit up a vast amount of dust motes and had the Chudley Cannons on Ron's posters squinting into the glare before flying into each other. Hermione sat on the floor next to the bed, sorting through a seemingly endless pile of their belongings while he lay on his back, making her laugh by reading choice bits of "The Quibbler" and his added commentary to her. The interrogations and attempts at persuasion every time they met up with anyone else were driving Hermione to tears and Ron to rage and they had been making excuses to escape here more and more often.

"You know, she does have a good point though," Ron said tentatively, laying down The Quibbler. After yesterday's go-round with his mother he wasn't in the mood for another one with Hermione. Especially when they'd been sitting together so peacefully today. Especially when it always ended the same way; with him losing and confused and Hermione winning and yet looking a bit lost herself.

"Yes, your bedroom really _is _a sty. Honestly, Ron, I'm trying to get us organized here."

"Ha, bloody, ha. Don't try and change the subject."

"I'm going, Ron, so don't start that again. I'm tired of trying to convince everyone I know what I'm doing," she huffed out on a frustrated breath.

"It's not that, Hermione, you know better with me. I'm the one who doesn't know what I'm doing half the time."

"You're being generous," Hermione smirked at him.

"Very funny."

"So why aren't you staying home then? No, wait, I know the answer to this one. Because you're a boy and I'm a girl." She crossed her arms against her chest and waited for him to pretend it wasn't true.

"I resent that, you know. I'm a man; a tall and very manly one at that," he joked lamely. She'd gone from sweet, relaxed girl to full blown debater before he'd even had a chance to soften her up a bit. He figured it was too much to hope that terrifying aspect of her would change, no matter how many inroads he was making in other ways.

Unfortunately, he was right. Hermione didn't even pause to consider laughing; her single-mindedness had always overwhelmed him.

"But I'm just a girl who needs to be kept safe," she taunted him sarcastically.

"You're not just a girl, Hermione. You're…you're our…erm, you're a really important girl." Would he ever stop getting it hopelessly mangled when it came to actually telling her what he felt? Fred and George's book only told him about compliments and opened doors and "accidental" ways to touch her. There was no advice about already loving someone and then falling in love with them. He had to figure out the hard part for himself. The problem was figuring things out had never been his strong point.

"Oh. Well, that's very sweet. I guess," Hermione answered quizzically. "But I'm going anyway."

He nodded at her in resignation, because he had known that was would she would say. And he knew it was what she would do.

"Anyway," she continued, "how on earth would you and Harry manage without a 'really important girl' along? You'd probably head off with nothing more than your wands and the clothes on your back."

"So what's wrong with that?" Ron asked. "We're going to be fighting You-Know-Who, not going on a bathing holiday with him. We won't be needing our swim trunks, you know."

"What's wrong with that is that the two of you would be eating leaves, sleeping in tree trunks and stinking to high heaven in less than a week," Hermione laughed. "Wandering around wondering where to go next and how you were going to destroy the Horcruxes, if you could even find them. It's going to take more than a wand to defeat Voldemort."

Ron gave a bark of bitter laughter and stared up at the ceiling. It was true, Harry couldn't do it without her. Where that left him was something he tried never to consider, unsuccessfully most of the time.

"Don't you see that it's not just that I need to go with you and Harry?" Hermione pressed him. "You need me to go, too. You'd be lost without me."

"I guess you're right. I would be lost without you," Ron answered her, flipping onto his side to look at her with a directness he rarely possessed when he alone with her.

He couldn't tell if she caught exactly what he said, although from the faint stain of pink on her cheeks he thought she might have. "Thank you, Ron," she said softly.

"This doesn't mean I'm going to stop trying, you know. Mum's not the only one who can't give it up when she's worried."

Hermione rolled her eyes and went back to packing. "Now, what was that bit about the Wrackspurt Rebellion again?"

Ron sighed and opened the magazine again. He didn't know what to do about her, but then, he never had and they'd made it this far. There were a lot of things he didn't want to give up on anymore and she was at the top of the list.

"Right. The Wrackspurts are rebelling against the doctors at St. Mungo's for refusing to recognize their contribution towards…."


	2. Lighting The Lamp

Notes: This section contains original dialouge from Chapter Five of Deathly Hallows, which I'm fairly certain you'll recognize. Hopefully, Jo's generosity in letting us into the Potterverse makes this intrusion acceptable.

Thanks again to **kitthebrave**, speediest beta in the Western world, who kept the apostrophes in line Thanks also to **redlightspecia1** for keeping a close eye out for anvils in the sky while Hermione looked for Ron.

* * *

_Love is something eternal - the aspect may change, but not essence. There is the same difference in a person before and after he is in love as there is in an unlighted lamp and one that is burning. The lamp was there and it was a good lamp, but now it is shedding light, too, and that is its real function. Vincent Van Gogh_

The relief of putting her feet on the ground of the Burrow's back lawn was overwhelming. Hermione's knees buckled before Kingsley Shacklebolt's strong hands were at her shoulders, setting her steady. Such a furious attack despite all their careful planning; how was that _possible_?

She saw Hagrid first and knew Harry was safe. Hagrid would never willingly survive a fight that took Harry. Running towards them, Hermione threw herself gratefully into Harry's arms; he was safe, he would know, he would tell her about Ron. Instead of answers, there were angry voices and harsh demands. It wasn't over then, it wasn't okay. She buried herself deeper into Harry's embrace unable to bring herself to ask what she could barely admit she most needed to know.

"Who else is back?" Hermione heard Kingsley say and braced herself to turn around and face everyone else who had as much, no, more to fear than she had.

Not Ron, not Ron, not Ron…

Hermione forced herself to follow the conversation and almost vomited onto the grass as Remus tersely informed them that George had lost an ear. An ear! George, always so funny and yet so kind in his own way. Lost it to Snape, no less, whom she'd made the awful mistake of trusting. Ron had been right about him and she'd never given him any credit for it. She'd never given him enough credit for anything. Why hadn't she noticed that before?

"Give me the chance, Ron, just give me the chance. Come back to us and I'll tell you how right you were and you can lord it over me and tease me and tell me you're smarter than I ever wanted to admit. Just don't leave me here waiting for you," she pleaded internally, over and over again, as they stared wordlessly at the night sky.

Hermione dimly heard Hagrid hollering out to Harry for help but her mind stayed pinned on the stars, praying on each one. "Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight, I wish I may, I wish I might, have the wish I wish tonight," she whispered and saw Lupin glance almost angrily at her. His face was stern and set, this man she had always considered one of the gentlest she knew. She wanted to take his hand but this Remus scared her.

Hagrid joined them and the sheer size and warmth of him provided the only comfort she'd received all night. When she leaned against him, he put his shielding hand behind her to compensate for her lack of strength. And, she knew, to hold her if the worst was true. She'd never told him that it would be the worst for her because she hadn't quite realized it herself. But they'd none of them ever needed to tell Hagrid things like that; he saw them long before anyone else.

There was a scuffle behind the tree, a rushing of human forms and Ron's dad and Fred came tearing towards them. "My children?" he demanded harshly of Lupin.

"George is injured, but not too seriously," Remus answered. He paused momentarily before continuing in the same dead tone, "Bill and Ron aren't back yet." Ron's dad shared a stricken look with Lupin before running towards the Burrow faster than Hermione had ever seen him move. Kingsley tried to get in front of him, demanding "Wait just a minute, Arthur." He was aiming his wand towards Mr. Weasley, "How many times have we met at the Ministry in the past week?" Fred, pelting after his father, shot a dangerous look at Kingsley and raised his own wand.

"I'll prove whom I am, Kingsley, after I've seen my son, now back off if you know what's good for you," Arthur hollered, the last words reaching them from the kitchen entrance.

A little later Hermione felt rather than saw Harry and Ginny join them. Ginny took Hermione's hand in hers, both of them trembling and ice cold despite the balmy air. She should be comforting them, she knew, but every ounce of her being was concentrating on bringing Ron safely back.

"I didn't even say goodbye," she whispered helplessly. "Why didn't I say goodbye?"

"He's with Tonks. Tonks is great Auror. And Ron can fight, Hermione. You know that."

"Thank you, Ginny," she breathed, knowing Ginny was unwilling as she was to acknowledge that knowing how to fight wasn't going to be enough for all of them to survive this bleak night. She let go of Ginny's hand to slide her arm around her waist, resting her hand on Harry and Ginny's clasped ones. They opened just enough to allow room for her fingers to twist in theirs. Hermione couldn't escape the impression that they were as a trio of waiting mourners.

The broom appeared overhead; her heart was in her throat, almost gagging her. If he was hurt, if it was Tonks alone…and then she saw two upright figures. She screamed "It's them," as Ron, miraculously Ron, came stumbling towards them, unblinking, staring at them with frantic eyes. Hermione heard him mutter, "You're okay," before she was on him and he was with her, arms moving securely around her, finally warming her, whole and present.

"I thought…I thought," Hermione wept. She had flung herself gratefully into Harry's arms more often than she should have had to; no one should be in that much danger. She'd hardly ever done so with Ron. She wasn't very good at taking chances. She should have tried harder.

As Ron gently reassured her, Hermione wondered if he realized that she had been worrying about him differently than the others. She worried about him more, as disloyal and guilty as they made her feel. It would have been like personally losing someone if Ron had died. With that thought, she lifted herself even closer to him and whispered daringly against his neck, "I wish I had told you before we left how much it matters to me." His arms tightened around her and she wanted to spend the rest of this awful night being held by him. He might have felt the same because when Tonks starting telling them of Ron's skill in the fight neither one of them let go.

And then she messed it up. Again. She was as impressed as she would have been anyone who managed what he had. More that that, she was proud of him and a little proud that he was standing there with _her_. He hadn't understood her, but that was okay. It was, in its own way, as telling as the way he had rested his warm hands on her hips. She was learning how very much her opinion counted to him.

After they had had learned the awful news of Mad-Eye's death; after they had watched the shocked but not surprised faces of the adults; after they had drank the first of what was going to be many toasts to the dead; after they had followed Harry into the yard and then chased him back into the house again, Hermione was exhausted. She didn't think she had ever felt so much in such a short period of time. Still, when Ron asked her if she was ready to go back inside, she told him she rather they stayed out here alone for a bit.

"I killed that man," Ron said uncertainly.

"Oh, well, maybe…maybe you didn't. And we may have killed people before without knowing for certain. I may even have killed someone tonight, who knows?" she stumbled out, trying to bolster him.

"I know he's dead and I know I killed him, Hermione. I watched him drop to the ground. It's weird. I was so triumphant the minute I saw him fall. Then I kept picturing one of us falling like that, maybe even Harry. Maybe even you. It's a good thing we were almost at Aunt Muriel's house because I was close to panicking."

Ron paused and then went on, "And then it was Mad-Eye that fell. I never expected that."

"Me either," Hermione replied. "Mad-Eye and Dumble…Dumbledore seemed untouchable. How can we do this without Dumbledore, Ron?"

Ron didn't answer other than to once again put his arm around her.

He had touched her more in the past few weeks that he had in the whole time she they'd been friends. It was nice, she decided, very, very nice actually.

"You're braver than me. I was panicking the whole time we were up there. This is the very last time I ride on a creature's back."

Ron snorted. "We've got to do something about you and flying after this is over, Hermione. We could go on broom rides together."

"I'm glad you killed him, Ron," she agreed obliquely.

"Yeah. I reckon one less piece of Death Eater scum can't be a bad thing."

"Yes," she said pensively. "I can't explain it, though. I'm glad you killed him because he was after _you_."

"That was pretty much the deciding factor for me, too," Ron replied ironically as her took her hand. "Ready to go in? I'm getting hungry."


	3. Dancing on This Earth

_Author's Notes: _Thanks, as always, to Jo whose generosity is letting us use her characters in our own way remains strong, despite all provocation. Thanks again to **redlightspecia1** for the helpful and encouraging beta and for pointing out where all those pesky commas belong.

* * *

**_Dancing on This Earth_**

_Oh, very young what will you teach us this time? You're only dancing on this earth for a short while._

_Cat Stevens_

* * *

Hermione had planned on a good night's sleep, but Scrimgeour's disturbing visit had ruined that idea. Until she'd seen the Snitch and Deluminator actually work, she hadn't been certain he'd turned over the genuine items to them. She still wasn't sure about the book; perhaps there had been a message from Dumbledore in his copy and Scrimgeour had pawned a different one off on her. Regardless, she'd stayed up far too late looking for clues and enjoying the stories, so different from the fables she had grown up on.

However, she was determined to enjoy the day. It was her first wizarding wedding and in a family she'd grown to love almost as much as her own. In the contagious excitement and nervousness of an unbelievable amount of fussing, Hermione found herself forgetting her exhaustion and even her concerns.

Mercifully, she and Ginny had mostly been left alone by Fleur's family, although Mrs. Weasley had popped in a few times to both hurry them along and softly sigh, "Oh my, how lovely you girls look." Ron's Aunt Muriel had stopped in as well, criticizing Ginny's taste in bedroom décor and scrutinizing Hermione for an oddly long time. "So," she had snapped, "you're the Muggleborn girl, are you? Well. I suppose you'll do but your ankles are far too skinny." With that, she turned on her heels and marched out of the room, presumably looking for more things to examine with a view to disliking.

"What on earth was that all about?" Hermione asked Ginny, who responded with a shrug.

"She's always like that, heaven knows why. Aunt Muriel's got more money than Merlin but nothing makes her happy. Here, I'll help you with your hair."

Hermione watched in the mirror as Ginny tucked some waving Stargazer Blossoms into the twist at the back of her hair, wondering just what she was feeling today. She seemed resigned, which was better than how sad she'd been when Hermione arrived, but surely resignation was not how a girl should feel at her brother's wedding, no matter how difficult the bride.

"So, I guess I made a fool of myself yesterday," Ginny said in a carefully casual tone of voice.

Hermione met her eyes in the mirror. "Harry would never think you're a fool, Ginny. You must know that."

A small amount of the tension left Ginny's face. "Not that I haven't forgiven my prat of a brother for interrupting like that. I wasn't finished."

"Ginny!" Hermione said with a sharp intake of breath. "Maybe it's a good thing we came along after all. It was a little…steamy in there."

"I'm not _stupid_, Hermione," Ginny interrupted exasperatedly. "There were things I wanted to say to him."

"It wouldn't be stupid to want to, well, to want to have a goodbye," Hermione said gently.

Ginny raised her eyebrows.

"I'm not a _prude_, Ginny," Hermione mimicked back at her. "I just haven't had the same opportunities as you."

Ginny's eyebrow raised even more. "I wouldn't say that, Hermione."

"Speaking of Ron," she continued, "remind him to thank you. If it wasn't for you, I'd make this day hell for him."

"It's hard for him," Hermione answered seriously, "being mad at Harry and loving him at the same time."

"He should just leave the Harry-loving to me,' Ginny said and both girls laughed.

"Ron just, he doesn't see things like we do," Hermione went on, determined to make Ginny see that Ron was concerned, not just meddlesome. "He's worried about Harry, well, doing things with you when it doesn't mean what it should. Which is something Ron's quite familiar with," she added bitterly.

'I'm sorry, Hermione," Ginny said sympathetically.

"No, don't Ginny. I'm the one who's sorry. It always seems to come back to him with me."

"That's fair," Ginny replied. "It always seems to come back to you with him. Seriously, Hermione, have you _seen_ the way he looks at you?"

"Looking's all well and good. Growing up enough for things to work out is something else entirely." Hermione fell silent, not really knowing what she was feeling much less how to say it.

"I love _you_ too, you know," Ginny broke the quiet. "Outside of Ron and Harry. I'd want you to be my friend no matter how I met you." Ginny nodded as though satisfied with herself. "I just wanted you to know that."

Hermione held out her hands and Ginny took them. "I love you, Ginny," she said. "I've never known anyone so sure of what to do. Sometimes I'm in awe of you." Hermione leaned over to kiss her cheek.

Ginny turned back to the mirror saying, "I don't know that you should be, Hermione. I'm so disappointed about not being with Harry today when I should be worried about the three of you going off to do something as foolhardy as what you're planning. Childish of me, I know."

"He told you?" Hermione asked with some surprise. Harry had been so set on keeping the details of their mission from everyone.

"Sort of," Ginny answered. "Not a lot."

"Was this before or after the kissing?" Hermione asked mischievously.

"I'm sure the kissing lowered his defenses a bit." Ginny winked. "You should try it sometime."

"What, kissing Harry? I think not."

"You twit," Ginny laughed. "You know what I meant."

Hermione was a little relieved when Mrs. Weasley bustled back into the room and plopped herself down on Ginny's bed.

"You look a treat," Ginny told her mother joining her on the bed. "Wait until Dad gets a peek at you."

"Oh, goodness girls," Mrs. Weasley said rapidly. "My head's in such a swivet I don't know if I'm coming or going."

"Harry liked the watch, Mum, by the way. I've never seen him check the time so often."

"Well, that awful family of his wasn't going to do the right thing. I do wish we could have bought him a new one, but with the wedding..." she trailed off distractedly twisting a strand of Ginny's hair forward. "There, that looks pretty."

"No, what you did was perfect, Mrs. Weasley" Hermione said. "It was your brother's and you gave it to _him_. That matters to Harry."

"I'm happy then," Mrs. Weasley beamed and reached into the small sparkling bag by her side. "Now, Ginny, I was going to wait for your Dad but Merlin knows where he's taken himself."

She held out a delicate chain of spun gold, so finely wrought it must have been magically made. No Muggle necklace could be that thin and shine so much. "I thought you'd like to have this. I wore it on my wedding day."

Ginny hugged her mother and turned to let her fasten it around her neck. "It's wonderful, Mum. Thanks."

"Oh, it's lovely, Ginny," Hermione added. "You look absolutely beautiful."

"Now, for you," Mrs. Weasley continued to Hermione's surprise. "No matter how tight things were, Arthur always gave me a little something when we had a new baby. Sometimes a very little something," she laughed. "These earrings are from when Ron was born and I want you to have them."

The small blue stones seemed to wink up at Hermione from Mrs. Weasley's palm. Hermione found her throat tightening a bit and was certain she was both blushing and beaming.

"Thank you, Mrs. Weasley," she managed to get out, giving her a hug. "Are you sure you want me to have these, though?"

"Of course I do. This is a family wedding and there's no better time to pass on family jewelry, such as it is."

As Hermione put the earrings on she was suddenly overwhelmed by the urge to crawl into Mrs. Weasley's lap, to be rocked like a child, to feel safe. At that moment she wanted nothing more than to stay at the Burrow, with this family, forever.

* * *

A ridiculous dance competition had erupted on the dance floor and Hermione found herself breathless with laughter and knocking into other dancers. Ron was clumsily spinning her on the dance floor before pulling her deliciously close for longer and longer moments. It was, Hermione supposed, less awkward and not at all surprising that he wasn't taking this seriously in front of his family and she was having fun but still, she thought wistfully. Just then she caught Ginny's eye and saw that beneath the laughter, the mad whirl of bodies and the outrageous insults tossed between the twins, Lee and Ron, there was a deep sadness. Hermione realized she was rather determinedly _not_ looking for Harry. At least I'm dancing with who I want to, she thought, as Ron dipped her dangerously backward and threatened to drop her on the floor with a wink. "You wouldn't dare," she giggled back at him. "I'd hex the smile right off your face." Ron lifted her back into one of those delicious moments.

"Those are pretty earrings, Hermione," he commented. "I think Ginny has a pair like that."

"Well, you're not _quite_ as clueless as I thought," she answered, not expecting him to understand.

"I'm trying, Hermione, I'm trying."


	4. Cracked Skies

Thanks, as always, to Jo whose generosity is letting us use her characters in our own way remains strong, despite all provocat

Thanks, as always, to Jo whose generosity is letting us use her characters in our own way remains strong, despite all provocation. Thanks also to **jules1278** and **kitthebrave** for love and beta'ing.

* * *

Cracked Skies

_You're in my mind all of the time, I know that's not enough  
Well, if the sky can crack, there must be some way back  
To love and only love_  
U2, Electrical Storm

Grimmauld Place didn't mean the same thing to Ron as it did to Harry and Hermione. To them, it was just the creepy home of Sirius' evil relatives; the sort of people they wanted to stop. To him it stood for everything that had always been wrong in the world. People with power and money lived in places like this. They were corrupt even when You-Know-Who wasn't around. People like Harry, Hermione and Ron didn't count for anything to them. They bought, stole and bribed their way to having the loudest say in how things were done. He'd figured Muggles didn't have those sort of problems because Hermione didn't understand how pointless it was trying to change the system with people like that around. Smart as she was she never seemed to have figured out just why his Dad didn't earn a decent living.

However, tonight Ron intended to take advantage of one of the few benefits of being here. They deserved a reward after a day like this and he had figured out a way for them to have one. Not surprisingly though, when he went into one of the few clean sitting rooms with a working fireplace he found Hermione sitting alone. Harry must have taken himself off again. It wasn't as though he minded the time with Hermione but after learning about the locket you'd think he'd at least want to discuss the situation. They were supposed to be doing this together. It hurt her feelings. Ron headed towards the ornately carved, ceiling high, cabinet that hadn't yet yielded to their casual attempts to open it.

"What are you doing?" she asked, looking up. She was sitting on the couch, feet propped on the coffee table, staring at her knees. Ron was a little surprised she'd even noticed he'd come into the room.

"Turns out it's the drinks cabinet. I got the key from Kreacher. 'Course he thought Master Harry might like a drink but since Harry's taken himself off for the night I don't see any reason you and I shouldn't benefit."

"Are you sure that stuff's safe?" she asked as Ron swung the heavy doors open.

"Pretty sure. I can't see Purebloods poisoning the expensive booze," he observed, pulling various bottles out to examine them in the light.

"Now, let's see what we've got here. Ah, St. Amand's Brandy. The Delacours brought Mum a bottle of that as a gift. Bet that's good. And here's some top-notch Firewhiskey. Excellent."

He brought out two crystal glasses and poured them each a sizable amount of liquor after joining Hermione on the couch.

"What's worrying you tonight?" Ron asked her, as he had most nights. "Besides Harry, that is?" he added quickly, as he had most nights. It could be anything really, what with all that happened; Kreacher's sickening story, Scrimgeour's death, about how to get the locket from that utter toad, Umbridge, the news of his family. Or it could be Harry.

Most of the time Ron thought he was the one she wanted now. Sometimes he was even certain of it. It was the why that still troubled him. After all, he was pretty much throwing himself at her. He reminded himself of first year Hermione, hand in the air, bouncing on her toes, every inch of her crying out "Pick me, pick me." At the time he thought it was sad, really, wanting to always come first like that; like she was afraid she'd disappear if the Professor didn't think she was the best in the crowd. Now he'd laugh at the irony if it didn't taste of bile. He's so transparently trying to stay visible. Pick me over them. Pick me over him. He rather hated himself at times.

"Come on," he pleaded mockingly, "aren't you talking to me? I didn't do anything really stupid today."

"No, I guess you didn't," she said, giving him one of those sudden, sweet smiles he loved. It was almost nice not knowing exactly how to earn them, instead having them occasionally drop into his lap like Christmas presents in July. "I can't figure out who did though, Lupin or Harry," she said, turning toward him, puzzled. "Who do you think was right, Ron?"

He hated when she put him on the spot like this, especially when it came to anything Harry did. It was like that dream he had where McGonagall asked him question after question when he hadn't done the reading and wouldn't get to Hogsmeade if he didn't know the answer. There was no way to get it right with too much riding on the question.

Luckily she didn't wait too long for him not to answer this time. Sipping her brandy, she said, "Of course I can see why Harry's upset, after losing his parents and living with those terrible Dursleys. But to say those things to Remus. How could he hurt him like that?"

"But then," she continued, "I don't understand him either. Tonks iswonderful, isn't she? If she doesn't care that's he a werewolf that should be good enough for him. And a baby," she breathed. "Oh, Ron, a baby…"

Ron rolled his eyes at her . Now that she was letting him get a word in the conversation was about babies. Great, like he had lots to say on that topic. Maybe they should have invited his Mum along after all.

"I hope they'll let us mind the baby sometime. That'll be fun, won't it?" she said, ignoring his show of boredom.

"Yes, Hermione," he deadpanned. "That's exactly what I was thinking. Defeat You-Know-Who, then take you out for a romantic night of babysitting."

"Oh, are we being romantic now?" she asked, raising her eyebrows but with what he hoped was a hint of a laugh in her eyes.

Very funny, Hermione," he smirked. "We're certainly being more romantic than anyone else we know right now anyway," he said filling up her almost empty brandy glass.

"You don't have to get me drunk first, you know," she said, but she was still distracted and took another large swallow. She didn't stop brooding, facing him but staring at a point somewhere past him, her face troubled. It wasn't surprising what with the weight of the day, but he was disappointed anyway.

"Oh, it's not right, it's not right" she cried, striking her fist on her leg in frustration. "I always thought Lupin was decent and good and now he might leave his wife. He should be happy."

"Hermione, he wants her to be happy more. I figure he thinks that if he goes now she'll get over it and be better off in the long run." Ron's stomach dropped unexpectedly. Maybe he was drinking too quickly, he thought, and abruptly put his glass on the table, sloshing a little Firewhiskey onto his hand.

"But she _loves_ him," Hermione said, somewhat urgently.

"She loves him _now_. How's she going to feel after years and years living the way he lives? Maybe she'll remember all the choices she didn't make because of him. Maybe she'll wish she could go back and do it differently." It was like his mouth was a runaway train, speeding towards a canyon a bridge used to span.

"Maybe she won't," Hermione answered him angrily, slamming her glass down on the table hard.

"You're right about one thing, Hermione. Tonks is pretty fantastic. She could have found someone far better than Lupin to marry. Maybe he just doesn't want to live the rest of his life waiting for her to tell him she's sorry she settled for someone like him."

"I can't believe you'd say that about Tonks." Hermione stood up, hands crossed against her stomach. "It would serve him right if she went off and left him, not that he's going to give her the chance. Harry was right, he is a coward."

"Oh, right, of course you'd agree with Harry," he practically snarled.

"What does Harry have to do with anything?" she hollered. "We're talking about Lupin and Tonks, in case you forgot."

"I know exactly what we're talking about, Hermione," he lied furiously. "We're talking about how you've always got your head in the bloody clouds. We're talking about how you think all you have to do is decide what's fair and that's how things should be. Like wanting things is enough to make it work."

Upstairs, a door slammed loudly. Hermione stamped her foot and shouted, "Shut up, Harry. You're not the only who's allowed to yell around here."

"Right," he called down apologetically. "Have at it, then."

They stared at each other, both of them breathing a little too fast. Ron couldn't remember if he'd been winning or losing, just that he was outraged with her for not understanding _something_. With that in mind, he said, "You don't get it, do you, Hermione?"

"What I get is that I've been wanting you to stop being a total idiot for years and yet you still _are_. You're the one with your head in the bloody clouds if you think that's fair." With that, she turned and stormed out of the room, slamming the door for good measure.

Ron stared blindly after her for a minute trying to figure out what the hell they'd just said to each other. When it became clear that wasn't going to work he drained both glasses, stretched out on the couch and put a pillow over his face. One thing for sure, he was furious with that idiot Lupin.


	5. The Center Does Not Hold

The Center Does Not Hold

_Author's Notes: Many thanks to PigWithHair, whose wise suggestions helped me find the structure for this chapter. _

_This one's for my partners in crime, Hez and Co…we all end up with locket sometimes, but without both of you it wouldn't be so easy to destroy. _

The Center Does Not Hold

_Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;  
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,  
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere  
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;  
The best lack all conviction, while the worst  
Are full of passionate intensity_

_ Wm. Butler Yeats_

It was just that she'd been so terrified and then he'd splinched himself, which was uglier than she'd expected it to be from the way she'd heard it talked about. The wound was bloody and gaping, and she'd had to do her best to heal him while she was so shaken to see him injured. And then she was sort of…well, surprised to hear him express so much concern about the Cattermoles. That wasn't very typical of him. Even she and Harry hadn't given them that much thought. She almost didn't care that she wasn't hiding herself for once, that anyone could look at her face and see how very much she felt for him.

He must not have noticed, Hermione thought, blushing a bit at the memory as she brought him another mug of tea and sat at the edge of the cot. It was such a wave of emotion she'd even made herself nervous. Heaven knows what it would have done to him if he'd hadn't been too hurt to notice, she thought, half grateful, half regretful.

"So, I guess we did it," Ron said weakly. "Doesn't feel like I thought it would."

"No, I don't feel right either," Hermione confessed. "It's not much of a victory when it was just luck at the end. I messed up so badly, Ron," she confessed shakily. "We can't go back to Grimmauld Place because of me."

"It's not your fault, Hermione. Nothing went exactly the way we planned." Ron tried to comfort her as she checked his arm. "So, we aren't at Grimmauld Place, we'll cope. That's nothing compared to what I might have done to the Cattermoles."

"You didn't do anything to them, we all did. Maybe we gave them the chance they needed to get away. Maybe we gave all those Muggle-borns a chance."

"Ouch! Gentle, please," he yelped, swatting at her hand.

"Don't be such a baby, Ron," she said, attempting the laugh he'd intended.

"We have to stop the Ministry, we just have to" Hermione burst out, her fears overcoming the comfort of their conversation.

Ron caught her eye and held it for a moment. "It won't happen to you, you know."

"Actually, it _might_," Hermione replied. "If we don't get in worse trouble for this, that is. Or die. There are plenty of people who won't want those laws repealed."

"So, we'll just go live someplace else. Like…like, Australia, with your parents. I've always wanted to see a kangaroo," he told her, nodding too forcefully.

"Ron, you have _never_ in all the years I've know you ever even mentioned kangaroos."

"Well, I really like them," he insisted. "They have those cute little pouches and they hop everywhere. Really, Hermione, they're very interesting animals. I wonder if you can ride them?"

If she had known this would be the last purely pleasant conversation the two of them would have, she would have ended it differently, instead of falling into a fit of the giggles. She and Ron had felt like a team within a team since Dumbledore's funeral, even with their usual number of silly arguments and one or two that weren't so silly. It was as though they were cocooned in a new kind of magic. They'd cast a spell that created a small, safe place that belonged only to them, a place in which they were the most special just by meaning the most to each other. Somehow, that meant the world when they were together.

With the Horocrux literally hanging round their necks like a golden millstone, though, everything between the three of them seemed to chaff and grind in a way it never had before. Worse, that cocoon that sheltered she and Ron was slowly unraveling despite their small attempts to try to spin things together again in whispered conversation and consultations held on some slim pretext of a shared task. They started out hopefully every time, believing that the connection between them still held.

"We got one, Horcrux, Hermione, we'll get another. We're just…working out what to do next."

"We're not doing so well at it, are we, though?" Hermione said, although she squeezed his hand gratefully. "We aren't doing so well at anything. Actually, we just aren't doing anything."

"I know. But Harry will figure something out, I'm sure he will.

"I don't think we can keep depending on Harry", she whispered, biting her lip at bit at the disloyalty. Was that a look of triumph she saw in Ron's eyes? What was going on with all of them?

"He's glaring at us again," Hermione pointed out nervously

"So, we talk alone a lot of the time," Ron said.

"But he'll think we're angry at him," she answered.

"Why does it matter what he thinks?"

"It doesn't, Ron. Really, it doesn't," Hermione stressed, taking his hand again, although he seemed a bit more reluctant, and she felt a bit more awkward than just a moment ago.

"Do you believe me?" Hermione asked quietly

"Yeah," Ron answered, "I guess I do. Well, back to wars," he added, turning quickly from her, leaving her puzzled and strangely exhausted.

If only Harry knew how pointless these conversations were, thought Hermione, how much she and Ron were killing whatever had been finally taking root between them, he'd be glad to be left alone.

And that was the way it went increasingly often. Ron was frustrated, she was irritated, and both of them made that perfectly clear to each other.

The more they squabbled about food, the more Ron seemed to expect from her. The more he complained that their meals were inadequate and tasteless or unpleasant, the more she felt that he'd been lying about everything all along. He _did_ blame her for the loss of Grimmauld Place and Kreacher's cooking. He _was_ angry at her for not compensating for that mistake. What else had he said that wasn't true?

The delicious sense of anticipation that had charged their moments alone was becoming more and more a strange and sad memory. Hermione waited in vain to feel the quick fluttering in her stomach, the languor in her limbs that heightened her senses when he looked at her. Worse than losing it herself, though, was the thought that he might feel ordinary when he looked at her too.

He still took her hand but only to lead her out of Harry's hearing, so different from the way he'd held it when she was frightened and lonely, held it until she fell asleep only to wake up with him still there, still holding onto her

"Still not getting anywhere with Harry, I see," Ron demanded.

"How can I convince him of anything when you won't agree with me?" she snapped back.

"Why does it matter what I say? Aren't you the one with all the influence over Harry?" Ron sneered, as he so often did when he implied it was she who was unable to move their search forward..

"That's not fair, Ron. You haven't even tried to talk to him," she said, aware of how contemptuous she sounded.

"I don't bloody know what to say. You're the clever one around here, Hermione!"

"He's become so useless, so helpless, so damn dependent on me," Hermione raged to herself as she stomped off, the locket bouncing on her chest with each angry breath.

Every time the icy gold poison hit her skin she felt a flash of resentment. What they really needed to do first was figure out how to destroy the damn thing, she'd think as soon as she put it on, but after twelve hours of the mental gymnastics required to keep its influence at bay, the relief of thinking straight without it was so sweet she'd forget what a priority it was to get rid of it

Sometimes, when she and Ron were alone and blessedly free of the locket, going round and round in circles about Harry and Dumbledore and what they were doing out here and getting nowhere but tired of each other, she would suddenly yearn to reach out and touch his face. "Stop," she wanted to say. "Wait. This isn't _really_ us, is it?" Her own uncertainly over the answer frightened her, so she held back her hand and her question while the conversations sputtered off into dissatisfaction.

At night, the locket whispered between her breast and her nightgown.

"_He wouldn't be so miserable if __**she**__ were here, would he?" _

It wasn't the things she'd seen that came to her, it was the things she hadn't seen, the words she wasn't there to hear. Images and words the locket was happy to supply, turning what she knew was a rather ordinary girlfriend into a grand love affair.

Even without that sharp knife to her heart, the more time went by, the worse it got. When Ron wore the locket during the day, he was so surly and unpleasant she could barely stand to speak to him. At least she and Harry had the courtesy to control themselves but Ron's every emotion was given play. Everything she said was open to suspicion, everything she did was subject to complaint, everything she'd been to him seemed not to matter. Hermione felt that if he kissed her now, his very lips would taste of the bitterness invading his soul.

She'd always thought Ron felt more than he could say, but now she was afraid that he felt less; that he'd been bringing himself to act like he cared for reasons of his own. He talked of taking her out, but who else was around? He jumped at Harry for jumping at her, but was it just easier for him to argue with Harry over her than face what he really feels about Harry? She's just there, she's just his excuse.

"_My, my, what have you been doing to yourself, Hermione_?" the locket demanded of her.

Weaving a tapestry of love from little scraps of attention, that was what she'd been doing to herself. Why did she think that their friendship meant his desire was different from that of any other boy? Cretins. Apes.

_They see nothing with their minds, only with their stupid boy eyes,_ she thought incoherently through the long, sleepless nights.

It reached a point where taking the locket off didn't even give them much relief. They carried over the resentments it built up in them so that none of them could stop sniping at each other, no matter who was wearing the locket.

Ron and Harry were becoming so ugly and petty and stupid. Hermione knew she shouldn't take the flash of hatred coming from Harry when she passed him the locket personally but she did. Ron's relief at handing the nightmare over to her made her want to slap his face. The air between them had turn sour, like curdled milk. She was so sick and tired of the two of them. She was so sick and tired of _Ron_ and his complaining and his anger and his hunger and his disappointment and the way he was always disappointing _her_ that sometimes she just wished he wasn't there.

He wasn't there.

Be careful what you wish for.

Be careful…

_**Ron…**_


	6. Incomprehensible Things

_Author's Notes: Thanks to PigWithHair for continuing beta support, to lovely reviewers and to Jo for giving me a place to test the scope of my imagination. _

* * *

**Incomprehensible Things**

_Everything has achieved the contours of hallucination, everything seems to be drowned at the bottom of a dream populated by terrible nightmares and phantoms of incomprehensible things._

_Wladyslaw Stanislaw Reymont_

* * *

Hermione would never say his name again. She had wept it, yelled it, cried it, pled it, all to no avail. It wasn't possible to simply say it as though it was just anyone's name.

_The forest had died. It hadn't burned or been logged. It had simply died. Withered branches hung from graying tree trunks. Dead leaves rested on dry, cracked earth. There wasn't a bird in the air or a bug on the ground and it terrified Hermione. She turned and ran back to the tent, her feet not making a sound in the lifelessness around her. But the tent was flattened and collapsed, with huge, gaping tears. Harry was standing uselessly next to it, arms hanging at his side, head down. They didn't say a word to each other. She wanted to repair it but she couldn't even lift her wand. Her hand was too heavy. It seemed too pointless. _

She woke up crying. Hermione had never been lonelier in her life.

No one could make him feel better and no one could make him feel worse than Hermione. He'd recognized that meant he loved her, but it wasn't until he'd heard the anguish in her voice that it meant she loved him too.

_The forest was huge and overgrown. Green leaves were choking him no matter which way he turned. Ron didn't even know for certain where the tent was, but he could hear her crying out to him. Fat tree trunks blocked every path he found and sent him tracking back in useless circles but the more he struggled the stronger the barrier seemed to become. He couldn't even reach his wand to hack at it with spells: the growth was that thick and dense. His feet became tangled in the thick undergrowth, tripping him and sending him face first into the choking scrub. Finally he couldn't even stand up. His body was too heavy. It seemed too pointless. _

He woke up with tears on his face. Ron had never been lonelier in his life.

Hermione hadn't just lost Ron, she'd lost _Ron_ who had protected her from everyone but himself for as long as she'd known him.

_They were dancing again, as they had at Bill's wedding. This time Ron was holding her close without hesitation and they were very alone. The music was slow and sensual and she was dizzy with desire. His forehead was resting on hers and it seemed their very breath was in unison. _

"_I dreamt that you left me," she said quizzically._

"_I would never leave you, Hermione," he whispered. "Never."_

_With that, he bent closer to kiss her, when she slipped on the wet, sticky floor. Her foot touched a warm, soft piece of what felt like flesh. She looked down in curiosity. Her dress was dipped in blood and the dance floor littered with corpses._

She woke up screaming. Hermione had never been more terrified in her life.

He'd lost Hermione, after he'd come to want her more than anything else. Quidditch cups, one-upping his brothers, being as brave as Harry; he'd let that heap of meaningless, longed for accomplishments ruin the one true reward that would have made him the man he could have been, the man he wanted to be, the man she deserved.

_He was where he'd always hoped to be: alone in the Gryffindor common room with Hermione on his lap. She wasn't studying and he wasn't bored silly watching her read. For once he'd done everything right and as his reward she was close, warm and soft and most of all, welcoming. _

"_I dreamt you didn't love me," he whispered wonderingly._

"_I have always loved you, Ron. Always." _

_With that, he leaned her back and moved in to kiss her when his eye was caught by a movement behind her. He looked up to see Neville, lifeless and swinging in slow circles, a noose tight around his neck. _

He woke up yelling. Ron had never been more terrified in his life.

Hermione told herself she'd get used to never seeing his face again, never hearing his voice again, never laughing at his jokes again. She didn't need his help making all the pieces of herself fit into the right places.

_The path wasn't wide enough even for her feet and the stones crumbled beneath her toes, falling with small pings down the steep mountainside. The small rays of sunlight piercing through the fog struck her in the eyes, serving only to further blind her. Hermione grasped the hands on either side of her, slick with sweat, as tightly as she could. _

"_Don't look down, dear," came the comforting voice of Ron's mum from in front of her, as they edged along towards what Hermione knew was safety. "It's very important that you don't look down. Everyone will be all right if you just hold tightly to me." But she was trembling too much and her feet were slipping and she was much too frightened to trust. She looked down anyway and the side of the mountain collapsed in a deafening roar. The chasm below was deep and wide and she took everyone with her. _

She woke up loathing herself. Hermione had never felt so worthless in her life.

He didn't want to stop missing her, even if he could have managed it somehow. The punishing ache in his heart and his stomach when he thought about her was the only way he could hope.

"_Ten Galleons," Ron said with false confidence to the man behind the counter. "I won't take a Knut less."_

"_Ha," he replied. "Dare you dream it's worth that much to anyone? I'll give you twenty Sickles and you'll consider yourself lucky to get it."_

"_Five Galleons?" Ron asked desperately. "Or one? I could take one."_

"_One it is," the man said, slapping a battered Galleon onto the counter. "You never were much of a man, Weasley," he sneered, morphing into Draco Malfoy._

_He took out his wand and began to siphon Ron's blood into the waiting flagon. _

He woke up loathing himself. Ron had never felt so worthless in his life.

"Ron."

He heard her say Ron from his pocket. He gathered up his things and followed the sound of her voice, saying his name.


	7. Behind Blue Eyes

_Author's Notes: I'm so relieved to putting a new chapter up finally! I owe thanks to PigWithHair for a patient beta that turned into a bit of a re-write and for making sure this chapter went with the rest of the story, despite the gap in writing it. I hope you enjoy it!_

**Behind Blue Eyes **

_But my dreams, they aren't as empty__  
__As my conscience seems to be__  
__I have hours, only lonely__  
__My love is vengeance that's never free__  
~The Who_

Better to return to an arse-kicking than not to return at all, Ron thought to himself with a sort of insane joy while Hermione managed somehow or other to violently ignore his existence. Funny how weeks and weeks with a veela didn't move him at all while this icy hostility was giving him nothing but warm thoughts. As though she'd read and, moreover, disapproved of his thoughts, Hermione finally decided to acknowledge his presence with a glance of such withering contempt that it made Harry flinched from ten feet away. It was the best morning Ron had had in ages. Back was better than gone, no matter what.

At odd moments, he had allowed himself to visualize his return. Hermione would drop everything she was holding and fly at him, enthusiastically wrapping herself around him and kissing him. Ah, well, got it half right, Ron thought. After all, that she was still so angry at him meant that she still cared. He figured he'd seen her at her worst, and if this wasn't her worst, she'd probably kill him next time and then it wouldn't matter.

Luckily, by the time they'd return from the Lovegoods she lightened up a bit. Maybe she figured he'd been punished enough or maybe he'd said the right things somewhere in there.

Still, no matter how much it seemed as though her rage had subsided, he was far from off the hook. Hermione never really wanted to stay angry, she just had very specific ideas of what was needed for her to forgive. He would need to explain and explain an act that still shocked him. It must have seemed such a casual and easy betrayal to her. Ron sort of wished she'd just been there with him, Harry and the Horcrux. The horrified look on Harry's face as he saw firsthand the extent of the anguish the Horocrux had inflicted on him was the first thing that had eased Ron's own burden of guilt. It wasn't just his imagination that his imagination had become unbearable. _On the other hand_…he shuddered, recalling some of the vicious images. Better that he have the opportunity to explain. The bottom line was he was in for one hell of a rough time.

Starting now, apparently, as Harry had taken first watch and Hermione was making tea almost tentatively. Finally, she placed a mug in front of him and sat down at the other side of the table, looking off to the side.

"I hope Luna's okay," Hermione murmured.

"Me, too," he replied fervently.

"Xenophilius _must_ have been desperate to do what he did," she added.

"Luna wouldn't have wanted him to do that, though," Ron said firmly. "You know she wouldn't."

And now the tense silence started. Ron figured he needed to just follow his favorite team's strategy of keeping his fingers crossed and hoping for the best. He'd always had about as much chance to win Hermione over when she was like this as the Cannons did to win a Quidditch match. Hermione finally looked at him. His heart dropped.

"I suppose you're going to tell me the reason you did it?"

"I don't have one," he said, realizing how pathetic that sounded.

"You mean put me through that for _nothing_." Hermione was on the edge of shrill again and he began to panic.

"It wasn't nothing to me at time," he said glumly. "But it wasn't enough to be a reason."

"You're making even less sense than usual, Ron." Sarcastic was better than shrill. It must be starting to go his way. "Maybe you don't think I deserve an answer."

"You do, Hermione, I know you do, but I can't give you one because I was being an arse," Ron rushed out.

"Well, if that's all you have to say, I can see there's no point continuing," Hermione said tiredly.

Terrified that she meant more by that than continuing the conversation, he burst out, "I was scared, okay?" At her withering glance, he rushed on. "Not of danger, Hermione, we're all too used to being scared of being in danger for that to have been the problem."

"I was seeing things, thinking things about you, about Harry," he stumbled, hoping she'd understand what he meant. "I was scared of seeing those — those things for real."

"Yes," Hermione replied waspishly, "I know what that can feel like."

"Oh, God." He groaned, burying his head in his hands. "I haven't done anything right."

"Actually, that's not true," she said crisply, as though she was trying not to let his anguish affect her. "It would be much easier if it was." Before he could lift his head, he heard her getting out of her chair. He was afraid to look at the expression on her face, and kept his head in his hands. "Good night, Ron," she whispered and just as softly, she brushed her hand over his shoulder. He reached up for her, but she was gone before he could touch her.

He'd spent the next week exasperating her with ridiculous attempts to get back into her good graces; dramatically pulling out her chair for her at dinner, opening the tent flap for her with a flourish, nodding whole-heartedly when she so much as mentioned a chill in the air and generally making a prize arse of himself. As much as he'd been waiting for her to ask for some time alone again, he gave a little nervous jump when she'd asked him to go for a walk after dinner one night.

They walked silently to the edge of the protective spells, hunched down a bit in their jackets against the cold. Sitting on the patch of ground where Hermione had cast Warming Spells, they both awkwardly fiddled with twigs and leaves. He'd imagined she'd had everything planned out, but she seemed as lost and nervous as he felt. He didn't remember her ever looking so young, even though he'd know her for so very long.

"I cried every night," she said simply. Ron wanted her to say more, to _say_ why, even though he knew he didn't have a right to that. He'd told Hermione he loved her twice, but since one of those times was when he had a girlfriend and the other was when they were weeping at Dumbledore's funeral, it wasn't exactly a big confession. Hermione had never said it to him, but she'd been showing it for a long time. She deserved to see it from him before he deserved to hear it from her. Right now, all he could do was apologize, which wasn't that hard since he was so very, very sorry.

"Me, too," he said. "Only I deserved it and you didn't."

"Didn't you think I'd care?" she asked him, not so much angrily as strained. "Didn't you think it would hurt?"

"I didn't think it would, not really," he said. "Not for long, anyway. It seemed like having me around was just a habit. I kept imagining that you would be glad I was gone."

"You couldn't believe that, not really. Why did you want come back?"

"I was hoping I was wrong. I needed to find out if I was, anyway. And whether or not you wanted me around, I knew I should be helping Harry."

You're different, now," Hermione said a bit wonderingly.

"Yeah, I'm not wearing bits of evil around my neck," he said bitterly.

"No, it's not as though you were back to your old self, it's something different."

Ron supposed it was true. They seemed to need his energy now. Harry and Hermione couldn't handle each other on their own. Not only did that set a lot of fears to rest, he finally was starting to feel necessary.

"I guess so," he replied. "I've just, you know, stopped feeling like it wouldn't make a difference if I'm here or not. Instead of moping about it, I should have tried to make a difference. Now I am."

"You make it sound so simple, Ron!" Hermione huffed. Why couldn't you just have figured all that out without leaving us?"

"I probably would have, I don't know. But the locket _really_ did mess with my head," he continued. "Not that I'm making excuses, Hermione," he added quickly. "I was wrong, I knew I was wrong. I knew it right away."

"I thought I knew you better than anyone," Hermione said sadly.

"You do, Hermione. I didn't tell anyone this stuff."

"I should have guessed though, shouldn't I? Instead of being so bloody sure of myself, I mean."

"Or I should have told you."

"I should have _asked_," she stressed. "No, stop," she said, as he started to answer. "Miranda Merriwhipple's book on relationships, Why Love Potions Are Never Enough,  said it's never one person's fault when two people split apart. Everything was going wrong and I knew it, but all I thought about was how it was affecting me."

"Okay," he said. "That sounds fair if it goes both ways. There were things I should have been asking you too."

Ron placed his hand, palm up, on the ground beside her. "Can we just try to do better from now on?" Hermione unhesitatingly slide her hand into his and nodded. Nicer, he thought, everything is so much nicer. He scooted closer to her and with a sigh of relief she rested her head on his shoulder.

"I've been thinking about what you said before. About the locket. I couldn't help but wonder why it was so much worse for you. Maybe it was because you were what he wanted to be? I mean, a Pureblood," Hermione mused.

"Nah, it was because of what I did with it," he said, answering her question. "Poor, not ambitious, and fancying a Muggle-born like mad. It wasn't envy. It was contempt." _Oh, swift, Ron,_ he mentally berated himself. This wasn't the time and place for declarations of love. But it _was_ part of the explanation he found he needed as much, if not more, than she did.

"Oh," she replied quietly, looking away from him with a faint blush. "Well, yes that's probably the answer. I mean, I'm sure those are the kind of thing Riddle would have hated," she babbled, looking everywhere but at him. "Oh, Merlin, Ron…"

He grinned at her but decided to let it go. Not enough water under the bridge yet and more importantly, he hadn't finished telling her everything she needed to know.

"Mostly my problems were because of me, though, not because I'm Pureblood. I couldn't stop the locket from showing me horrible things, telling me awful stuff about myself. First, I wanted to stop thinking those things when I wasn't wearing it, but by the time I left, well, it was like I thought I deserved to be angry at everyone," Ron blundered through what he least wanted to admit.

"You've never really told me what those things were," Hermione said, failing to keep her tone merely mildly inquisitive.

"Yeah, I noticed that," Ron said dryly. There was no response from Hermione. "Okay." He sighed. "Some of it had to do with my family. My mum, really. I was unfair to her, like I expected her to love me more than everyone else, and when she didn't I thought she loved me less. Then I started thinking that there was a good reason for it. I suppose I should apologize to her," Ron finished, taking a minute to think about what he'd said.

"But mostly," he forced himself to continue, "it was about you — you and Harry."

"Ron, there _is_ no me and Harry."

"Yeah, I believe that now. I guess I did then too, but that didn't mean there couldn't be a 'you and Harry' or even that there shouldn't be." In for a penny, in for a pound, Ron thought. "And, erm, I saw in graphic detail what it would be like if there was. And sometimes," he said reflectively, getting caught up in his story, "I saw us too, but…." Belatedly, he realized that he shouldn't be telling her this part. Good Lord, she was going to think he was some sort of sex fiend. It was time to change the direction this discussion was taking before she slapped him.

"It wasn't anything, really, nothing to be embarrassed about, I promise," he said urgently, mentally crossing his fingers behind his back. "I'm sorry," he cried.

"It's okay," she replied faintly, turning her gaze away. . Taking a deep breath, she managed to face him again although she looked rather disconcerted. "I suppose you couldn't help it."

"It doesn't happen anymore," Ron said, although this was a bit of a lie. It happened all right, but it was as far from wrong as it could be and there was no way he was telling Hermione that.

"Hey, come on," he wheedled dramatically, nudging her with his shoulder. "If you can forgive me everything else, you can forgive that. It's not my fault you drive me mad." He waggled his eyebrows hopefully.

"Honestly, Ron," she laughed, nudging back. "You're not going to flirt me into dropping it. How do I know it's not going to go back to the way it was? I mean when you were so angry at me and Harry for nothing. Or almost nothing," she added fairly.

"I guess it's because those bits of me that were most like Riddle ended up in there and, lucky me, they just stayed there." he added.

Hermione looked a little shocked at this. "You're nothing like Riddle, Ron, _nothing_." He must have looked uncertain still, because she faced him with that familiar Hermione sternness and determination. "I don't know exactly how the Horcruxes work on the rest of us, but I do know that can't be it. Because you're nothing like him," she said almost tearfully.

"Okay, okay, Hermione," he said, throwing his hands up in the air in mock surrender, grinning like a maniac at her defense of him.

"I wonder if strongest acts of love come from giving up on hate," Hermione mused. "Dumbledore would think so."

"Hermione, this conversation is right over my head."

"No surprise, there," she remarked, but not in the scathing tone she'd been using all week every time he confessed to a fault. It was more like their familiar back and forth of pushing each other's buttons for the sake of a reaction. And it was the nicest he'd felt in ages. The silence that fell on them was finally peaceful.

"He does love you, you know," Ron broke in after a few moments.

"Not this again, Ron, _please_," she urged.

"No, like a sister. He told me. But I thought he might not have told you. And it's better to know." That was a lesson he'd learned in the hardest of ways.

"Neither of you is particularly good at that," Hermione replied.

"Well, that's the price of hanging around with a couple of gits like us, you know. You should have picked girlfriends. You'd have been a lot better off," he nodded, grateful as hell that she hadn't.

"He loves you too, Ron," said Hermione after she'd shot him a look of exasperation.

God, he loved that look or any look of hers, really, that wasn't anger.

"Maybe he has a predilection for red-heads," she said mischievously.

"Thank a lot, Hermione." He snorted, laying on his back and looking up at the sky. "I can't decide which one of those thoughts is going to haunt my sleep the most tonight."

"Ah, my revenge is complete," she replied lightly, joining him. "You're getting off easily."

"I know."

"Good."

"Wait a minute, you read a book on _love potions_?" Ron asked. "Should I be flattered or scared?"

"A little of both, Ron. A little of both."

And they watched the stars together.


	8. Three Important Things

_Author's Notes: I'm sorry that updates haven't been coming quickly lately. Thanks to those of you who have expressed interest in seeing the story finished; you've been a great motivation. Thanks also, to PigWithHair, for her continuing assistance throughout this experience. Take heart, the end is near!_

**Three Important Things**

_Three things in human life are important: the first is to be kind; the second is to be kind; and the third is to be kind._

_~ Henry James _

Waking up was agonizing. Hermione was terrified and every part of her hurt in a way she'd never imagined was possible. She was at Bellatrix Lestrange's mercy and Bellatrix wanted her dead, wanted all of them dead, except Harry. Voldemort was coming, she was dying, Harry was captured and Ron was screaming and screaming her name before it all went black. But now she was awake and nothing made sense because there were these soft hands and quiet, concerned voices murmuring to each other and blond hair surrounding her. She started struggling against them; this was a trick, she was losing her mind, cracking under the pain and she had to get back, she had to fight.

"Hermione, it's _okay_." A cup was at her mouth, warm liquid poured into her mouth. She spit it out, but too late, too late, it was down her throat and she was losing consciousness.

The second time she woke Hermione's face was being bathed in cool, sweetly scented water. Warm sunshine was pouring through the sheer, white curtains in a room with blue walls, she was lying in a comfortable bed and it was mercifully quiet.

"I dreamed I saw Luna," she murmured senselessly.

"I've dreamed about you too, Hermione. You've been so scared, haven't you?"

Hermione lifted herself up somewhat shakily, stunned at the sight of Luna leaning over her, looking anxious. She struggled to sit up and embrace her before a sharp pain in her back made her gasp aloud. Tears were coming, thick and fast, without any warning, and she was gulping for air, confused about everything, including why she was so suddenly crying.

"Ssh, he's okay. He's okay." Luna said, taking Hermione's outburst in stride and handing her a handkerchief. "Harry's okay, too."

And you're alive, you're okay, you're _here_," Hermione sobbed. "Where's here? How are you here? How am I here?" she blurted out, talking too fast. "Oh, this is so embarrassing," She wiped the tears from her face, although really, if she was going to have a complete nervous breakdown, Luna was one of the easiest people to have one in front of. She had moved a bit too quickly, she realized, as a wave of nausea hit her.

"Don't be silly. Ginny and I missed you, too," Luna said, wrapping an arm around her. Hermione could hardly bear to think of Ginny right now and shook her head to end her tears, a task that was made easier when Luna said, "Oh, dear, Hermione, I seem to have got tangled in your hair." Both girls laughed lightly and Luna picked up the soft flannel she had dropped on the bed when Hermione woke up. She dipped it into the bowl on the night table, wringing it out and gently wiping at Hermione's tears. "This is bluebell water. Bluebells scent clears the mind of bad memories. The fairies enchanted it in ancient times to counter-act the effects of the Nargels," Luna said. For once, Hermione didn't greet one of Luna's odd pronouncements with skepticism. In truth, she was quickly calming down.

"Was _Fleur_ here too?" Hermione asked. "You still haven't told me where we are."

"Don't you remember?" Luna asked. "Maybe I've used to much bluebell water," she added, staring suspiciously at the flannel before putting the cloth aside. "We're at Shell Cottage. We came here after we escaped Malfoy Manor."

"But how did you get there? And how did we get _here _of all place_s_?" Hermione was sore and exhausted and realized she should be lying down and sleeping again, but she felt so off-balance. How very odd it was to be in a comfortable bed, talking to a girlfriend. She almost felt _safe_. "Tell me_ everything,"_ she demanded.

Luna laughed. "Oh, I'm so glad you haven't changed, Hermione."

"And I'm so glad you stayed with me," Hermione said, squeezing Luna's hand gratefully. It was strange; she couldn't clearly remember saying goodbye to Luna after Dumbledore's funeral. How casual they'd been, even though they thought they knew what it would be like away from everyone, doing the most dangerous things she could imagine. And Luna had been captured. Yet here there were, still alive, still with a chance.

"He's very worried you know, Hermione," said Luna with one of those strange leaps in conversation that showed she knew Hermione was wondering where Ron was, wanting him.

"I guess I should tell him I'm alright," said Hermione.

"I'll go get him, shall?" Luna offered called out his name.

With that, the door banged open and Ron, who had obviously been sitting on the other side of it, waiting impatiently for some kind of permission, barged in. He flung himself down next to the bed, laid his head in her lap and gently wrapped his arms around her hips. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Luna slip out of the room and gently close the door behind her.

"Thank God. Thank God,″ Ron cried before pulling himself together with a shuddering breath. More than a little stunned, Hermione put her hands on his shoulders tentatively.

"Sshh," she said softly, smoothly his t-shirt over his shoulders. "I'm alright. I'm really alright, Ron." He lifted his head and glimpsed the crumpled handkerchief in her hand.

"You've been crying. Did Luna make you cry? Luna, did you make her cry?' He ran hands though his hair distractedly and glancing around the room.

"Hush, Ron. She didn't make me cry — she let me cry," Hermione responded, although she didn't expect him to understand. "Anyway, she left. She's a very healing kind of person, isn't she?"

"If by healing you mean a few Bludgers short a Quidditch game, then yes, yes she is."

"Ron!" she cried chidingly.

"Hey, you know I think she's great. Doesn't change the fact that she's barmy, though, does it?"

"Well, no, it doesn't," she admitted, amused. She was reminded a bit of first year Ron, disdaining her for her bookishness until he was her friend and it became his favorite thing to tease her about.

"Merlin, I'm glad you're okay. We thought we were going to have to call Mum and even Harry wouldn't survive the bollicking she'd give us for letting this happen to you."

Hermione started laughing before a sharp pain shot through her ribs.

"Why aren't you lying down?" Ron suddenly demanded. "You should be lying down." With that, he began clumsily arranging the pillows at her back and helped her to sit propped up against them. "No more laughing for you."

"Then stop being funny."

Ron sat on the bed, looking at her neck. "Does that cut hurt?" he asked, looking a little queasy.

"Is that a cut? I felt something stinging. I don't remember getting it, though. I don't remember much after Griphook came into the room. I still can't believe we're here."

"You were awake for a minute or two after we got here but Fleur knocked you right out again. Said you didn't need to be awake for a while. Until the…you know…pain subsided," he added anxiously. "It is going away, isn't it?"

She nodded. "Ron? You need to tell me what happened. How did you and Harry get me out of there? I thought...I thought it was all over. "

"It would have been if it wasn't for Dobby."

"Dobby?" Hermione exclaimed. "Dobby was there?"

"I'm still not sure how it happened. Nothing we did could get us out of that cell. Well, Luna said it was escape proof. We were so desperate."

"I… heard you yelling, so I knew you would hear me tell Bellatrix the sword was a fake," she said, practically spitting out the name. "But I couldn't stop screaming and I wanted to so much. With Greyback," she paused, shuddering. "I knew it was going to get worse. I didn't want you to hear that."

Ron's face grew bleaker than she'd ever seen before.

"Oh, but it didn't happen," Hermione cried, reaching out for his hand. "It didn't, Ron! It's okay. We're all okay." But they weren't all okay, _of course_ they weren't. Hadn't she known that from the minute he came into the room?

"What it is?" she asked, terrified. "You have to tell me."

"It's…it's Dobby, Hermione. He's dead."

"Oh, no!" she cried softly, covering her mouth with her hand. "He can't be dead, not _Dobby_."

"He is. None of us saw it happen but bloody Bellatrix Lestrange was throwing spells and knives around like it was nothing. He got her to let go of you and then I Disapparated you out of there. Bill said Harry's out there digging a grave for him."

"I don't even remember seeing him," she said sadly. "He saved my life and I don't even remember seeing him."

"He saved all of us," Ron said, so angry he was growling. "Dean, the goblin — us. Luna and Ollivander were down in that awful cellar for God knows how long, and he got them out as well. That bloody_ bitch_."

"Yes, rather," she said dryly, letting Ron's anger do her grieving for her. So much to say and she felt wordless for once. So much pain in one place, so many people hurt, afraid, dead.

"It's hard sometimes to believe they're real," she said. "There was so much evil just in that one house."

"They're real alright," Ron answered grimly. "And we'll pay them back for this."

"You wanted to take my place," Hermione choked out, trying to show her gratitude with her voice. She wasn't sure she could speak it without more tears.

"Bloody hell, Hermione, of course I did. Greyback would have..." he stopped abruptly. "God, it made me sick just to listen to him. There was no way, no way I could have just let that happen."

The tears were burning so badly she couldn't hold it in any longer. "God, oh God, I was so frightened and she was hurting me so much and I could hear you yelling for me and, and..." she gulped, trying to control herself.

Ron slipped the handerkerchief from her hand and tilted her chin up. He wiped the tears from her eyes, his face stern and set but his touch as gentle as a lover's. Hermione took a deep, shuddering breathe and grasped his hands. "It's over, Hermione. It's all over now," he soothed her. She knew it wasn't, really; these terrible things had happened and more horror lay in front of them. Still, she closed her eyes and believed the promise they held, that it would be over one day and he would still be there for her, still holding her, her future as much as her past.

"About Greyback...It wouldn't have mattered to me," Ron said fiercely, gripping her hands in return. "I mean, I'd have tried to kill him, but it wouldn't matter to me about you."

They both looked down at the quilt on the small bed, Hermione sniffing deeply and reaching for his hand. "Thanks," she whispered softly, hoping he understood the multitude of things she appreciated him for. Her hands were so small in his, his so warm. She wanted to hold them _forever_. Giving her a gentle squeeze, he joked, "Fleur could always have taught me to cook bloody steak. I'll bet I could have developed a taste for it myself," he said, trying to coax a grin out of her but she was too overwhelmed to respond. Grief, fear and love were weighing her down.

"You should go help Harry," she said finally.

"Yeah, I should," he replied but neither of them made a move. Somewhere through the fog of sadness she was feeling the comfort he'd brought her since his return. She felt drawn towards him, urged forward, needful.

"Remember that night?" she blurted out.

_She'd gone to her bed right after dinner, another meal filled with useless reviewing of the mere scraps of information they'd managed to put together. Utterly defeated, limp and exhausted, she'd collapsed onto her pillow, not even thinking about reading. The boys were continuing as they cleaned the kitchen but it was just more of the same. Go here, go there, try this_, _forget about the Hallows. And none of it was going to work. _

"_Here, Hermione," she'd heard Harry say, as he handed her a mug filled with the last of hot chocolate they'd managed to surreptitiously buy in Upper Flagely. She drank it gratefully. Sleep, she thought. She needed sleep so much. She laid back down trying to let their nonsensical chat and outrageous stories distract when she felt the nudge at her hip and the weight on the bed. _

"_Budge over," Ron said with only the slightest squeak in his voice as he sat down and rested his hand on the small of her back. The awkwardness she felt was echoed in the slight trembling of his hand as much as it was in Harry's determined glance away from the two of them. But the moment passed and it began to seem natural; that of course Ron should be sitting on the bed she lay on, of course he should be touching her, of course he should slip his hand under her shirt to smooth the skin on the small of her back, brush his thumb along her waist, natural and wonderfully, as she slipped off into sleep._

"Best of my life so far," Ron said without hesitation, and she knew he understood exactly what she meant. Maybe he even understood that she was too overwhelmed and frightened right now to think about anything other than those few moments of pleasure.

"Aren't _you_ easy to please?' Hermione said mischievously.

"I said so far." He gave her an outrageous wink that made her laugh again, not to mention giving her butterflies in her stomach, which she realized was achingly empty.

"I'm so _hungry_, Ron! Do you think there's any bacon?"

Ron laughed and helped her off the bed, grabbing the dressing gown Fleur must have left at the foot of bed. Hermione slid into it as he held it out for her. And then he slowly turned her around to face him. He carefully tied the belt, holding the ends in his hands. She couldn't help, for just a moment, imagining him tugging her towards him and _untying. _Her knees were actually weak and she knew it wasn't a result of Lestrange's treatment. Judging from his flushed face it was distinctly possible he was having similar thoughts.

"Oh, my," she heard herself whisper, standing stock still. Now that she's almost sure of him, she's too shy.

Still, she slid into his arms and raised herself on her toes to kiss his cheek. Finding the courage she'd promised herself she would, she whispered, "You matter so much to me." Ron's arms tightened around her.

"Everything, Hermione," he answered, his voice breaking. "Everything."

She'd started to slip out of his arms but it wasn't possible to pull away, not now. She rested her cheek on his chest, listening to his heart beat. They stood like this, silent and warm for a long, long moment. Hermione felt washed in love, cleansed by being loved, healed by loving.

"We still have so much to do, Ron."

He sighed in a long breath, whether in frustration, agreement or sadness she couldn't tell.

What would happen if she stepped back and looked at him again? Would it even matter how much they had to do? How unsafe they were? How needed? Or would they lose themselves in each other, lose sight of what was essential now?

She wasn't going to find out because there came a soft knock on door. They startled apart guiltily, as though they were doing something that no one else should see. But then, hadn't they almost been about to?

"'Ermione, I am making you some tea," Fleur said, poking her head into the room. "Tcha! There you are, Ron. Bill did not want you to bozzer..."

Fleur's eyes dropped down to their clasped hands and her expression softened. Hermione could only pray she wasn't blushing.

"Well, eet eez okay, I suppose," she softened. "Do you want tea here or do you want to come down?"

"I want to come down," Hermione said firmly. "Is Dean there?" she asked Ron.

"Yeah, it's great to see him again," Ron answered as they moved towards the stairs.

"Forgiven him, have you?"

"Well, he's on notice, now that he's not mauling my sister . As long as he remembers to keep his hands to himself," he said, glancing at her significantly. "That goes for Luna, too."

"I think Luna's just proved she's quite capable of taking care of herself," Hermione said archly. "Besides, they'd make rather a nice couple, don't you think?"

"That's enough matchmaking from you, Hermione. I still haven't recovered from your last attempt," he joked, shaking his head ruefully. "Harry and _my sister_, what were you thinking?"

"That wasn't me. Well, not really. They're just right together, don't you think?" He just rolled his eyes and slipped his arm around her waist.

"Hang on, let me help you down the stairs."

"I'm fine, really, Ron," she said, pretending that she hadn't just gripped his arm to prevent herself from stumbling into the newel post.

"Yeah, yeah, you're fine. Just let me help you down the stairs, okay?"

"Okay Ron."


End file.
